


Quicksand

by syredronning



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-08
Updated: 2010-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/syredronning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things come in circles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "In the Doghouse Again" prompt.
> 
> Thanks for the wonderful beta goes to cupidandpsycho. All remaining flaws are solely mine.

"_You've got to come_," is all the message says, but the sender's name is enough to have Jim Kirk on his way hours later.

"Damn hot here," are his first words when he descends the shuttle stairways after four days of travel, quickly wrenching open the collar of his casual shirt. He's glad to be out of uniform; 'fleet fabric sucks on desert planets. There's a welcoming committee of one, and after raking his eyes up and down the man in appreciation, Jim nods as they shake hands. "You're looking good."

"Liar," Christopher Pike, retired admiral and resident ambassador of Earth, says with a smirk, looking a little pleased anyway.

"You'll always look good to me," Jim says. "So, we're in for it again?"

"I wouldn't have called for you otherwise." They walk down the paved road towards the city of Shi'Bre, capitol of New Vulcan, not registering on the radars of the few passing pedestrians.

"You would've thought that after all these years, he'd either find someone else or die in peace."

Chris gives him a frowning glance.

"Just kidding." Jim waves a hand through the air. "Okay, maybe not. But what the hell? At least it gives me a good excuse to spend some time with you. Haven't seen you in far too long."

"That's true."

The house they enter at last is small, neat and life-saving cool, and feels like home to Jim. A rarely visited home, but it's got Chris inside and that's enough for him. He toes out of his shoes right behind the door and walks into the living room in socks, meandering around to take in every tiny change. Chris heads straight to the bar.

"Anything for you? Water, juice, bourbon?"

"Bourbon, please."

Chris makes it two, generously filled.

"You're going to lose," Jim says from the corner with the bay window, where the chess pieces of an interrupted game keep a silent watch.

"I like to think I still have a chance," Chris says as he joins him, offering him one of the glasses. Jim takes it without thinking, eyes still on the board.

"Your king -" Jim points at the white, isolated figure.

"Is fine as it is." Chris palms Jim's face with his free hand, claiming his focus. "Just fine." Jim's lips are soft and yield to the pressure of his thumb, taking it in with a slight, sucking noise. When Chris drags it out again, he draws a wet line over Jim's bottom lip and cheek with it before kissing him fully.

It's not intentional that the untouched drinks end on the board, irrevocably messing up the positions of the pieces, but maybe it's all for the better.

*

"_It is time_," says the message on Chris' PADD that lies on the breakfast table the next morning.

Jim sighs into his first cup of coffee. "Guess I better take an extra long shower. He hates it when I smell of you."

"One more reason I loved fucking you this morning." Chris pushes a small basket over the polished wood. "Here, have a bagel. They almost taste like the real thing."

"I'm not hungry." Jim leans back into the chair, rubbing his face. "At times, I wish I could say no."

"It's always your choice."

"Not much of a choice, when the alternative is death."

"You never know." Chris looks at him. "You never tried."

Jim meets his eyes, a strange smile curling his lips. "You want me to push it? See where the limit is?"

"Whatever you decide, don't use me as excuse," Chris states coolly.

Jim goes to shower. An hour later, they're on their way.

*

Chris saved Jim, Spock saved Jim, Jim saved Chris and Earth.

They all owe each other _something_.

Every once in a while, the debts get paid in sex - or rather blood, sperm and post-mindmeld headaches for Jim, not that Chris really wants to think about the details. It's become a strange ritual, the same words in the messages, the same roads they walk over the dusty ground, inevitably ending in front of Sarek's house. Vulcan may be gone but the House of Surak looks as stately as always, clawing le-maytas decoratively carved into the wooden door. How appropriate.

"Some say they've got bad blood in the line," Chris says casually.

Jim laughs roughly. "There are grudges everywhere," he replies and shakes his head, a last glare at Chris before he rings the old-fashioned bell.

It's the head of the household himself that opens the door, Sarek's knowing eyes drifting from Jim to Chris and back up to Jim before saying, "Thank you for coming." He steps aside, and Jim walks in.

"Send me a note when you're done," Chris calls after Jim, receiving a wordless nod. When he turns, the sand under his shoes sounds like a grinding mill.

*

"_It never took so long, _" the concerned message says, and Chris would love to have a better answer for the doc than a simple, "_no, it never did. _" The sun is low, some first stars fighting against the dusty sky. It's been eight days and if he doesn't hear from Jim tomorrow, he'll visit Sarek and find out what the hell's going wrong, no matter how.

He's stocked the fridge, bought a few things that Jim loves, expensive imported stuff but it's worth it.

Would be worth it, if Jim showed up soon.

*

_Spock saves Jim saves Spock saves Jim_; it's like some goddamn rule of the universe and it's rotating in Jim's brain all through these days.

"It's not like we're a constant, are we?" Jim states at one point, eyes on the ceiling because he's flat on his back and moving would be too hard. "Planck, speed of light..."

"If anything, we're the golden superstring number," Spock murmurs, his hand burning on Jim's chest. "Surpassing dimensions, fabric of time… eternal."

Romanticism, Vulcan style. Nothing he'd ever wanted.

"I ruined the game," Jim says disjointedly, hoping to elicit an emotion other than the one he's been shelled with all week. There's a fleeting satisfaction in feeling something beneath _desperate need_ recoiling from his statement, but then it's gone and nothing is gained.

"We'll start anew." Spock's fingers draw relentless circles on his skin. Some more minutes of it and Jim will surely go crazy.

"Are you done?" Jim asks rudely, because there's no need for faked politeness with a man who has shared your mind from day one. And maybe also because he's more than ready to leave with his usual pittance, those leaked, opalescent rivulets of memories to examine and add to the puzzle of his dual existence. He wonders how many years it will take to know it all.

"Not yet," Spock replies and rolls them over.

*

"_It is over. _" The second the message arrives, Chris is out of the door.

"Fuck," he says twenty minutes later as he takes in Jim's look. "You could've told me. They _do_ have cabs around here."

"I didn't want one," Jim says and limps down the stairs. "Let's get home."

They walk slowly and in silence, adamantly ignoring any curious glances thrown their way.

"Get a bath," Chris orders the second the door closes behind them.

"You're just as bad as he is," Jim says, but his voice is tired and raw and there's no real resistance when Chris undresses him, unable to hide a scowl at the sight.

"Don't ask," Jim mutters and sinks into the tub, closing his eyes. It takes ages before it's filled enough to cover most of the violated body. Unable to keep his hands away, Chris starts caressing it with gentle fingers until all of it is reclaimed by his touch.

"I pushed the limit," Jim says when he gets out, stripping the cooling water off his body with his hands before taking the offered towel. "I wanted to know…"

Chris can read the answer in all the bruises that Jim never had before. "So it's my fault?" he states, not really a question.

"If you want it to be." Jim chuckles, a joyless sound. "Fuck." He sighs. "Got something to drink?"

Chris sends him to bed and serves the bourbon there, holding Jim until the man falls asleep.

"_He's back_," he messages the doc with one hand, his other arm blocked by a heavy shoulder. "_He's all right_." A white lie but if the doc knew the truth, he'd show up here tomorrow and rip Spock's head off.

It's part of the ritual that everyone carries the part that he could deal with. And between Chris and the doc, only the first manages to eat up shit like this without punching a certain Vulcan's face, which would certainly cause a diplomatic incident nobody would want.

_A man still could dream_, Chris thinks and has another drink, right out of the bottle on his nightstand.

*

"_Due to unforeseeable events, Admiral Kirk's return to Earth will be delayed for another week._"

Chris reads the statement once more, then changes it to "_Due to medical reasons…_" and sends off the message. He might not have McCoy here, but the Vulcan doctor living right across the street would not hesitate to sign any necessary document. Not that he thinks Nogura needs one. There are secrets, and there are _open_ secrets.

Every five-odd years, Spock takes everything of Jim, and everyone keeps their mouths shut. Because Spock knows things they all want to know, and Jim's feeling of obligation makes it comfortably easy for everyone involved. For almost everyone, at least.

Chris sighs. What the hell - other people board shuttles, or self-destruct with their ship. They all signed up by their own free will.

"Hey, lover boy," he murmurs and strokes some random strands of curly hair out of Jim's forehead. It's in moments like these that he actually sees the young Jim of the past, the wild kid with the bloody nose, then later on the brilliant cadet with the too many flings. A reputation overblown from day one, and still never really matching reality. He'd been challenged by Jim all through the Academy, but he'd been good – he waited for the end of Kirk's first year in command before he finally seduced the young captain.

Any rumors about it having been the other way round are… misinterpretations.

Enough with waiting, Chris decides and crouches over the sleeping man, placing kisses all over Jim's chest, that smoothly shaven skin. He closes his eyes to the bruises, takes in Jim's feel and smell instead, his hands caressing everything within reach.

"Chris…" Jim mumbles sleepily.

"Sorry for waking you up," Chris lies, his lips close to the hairless groin. There's a red rash; someone's very due for a session with the skin regenerator, but not right now. He palms the rather retracted genitals, teasing the limp dick into growing.

Jim tries to squirm away. "Damn, Chris, you know I'm all fucked out."

_Not by me_, some annoyingly possessive, angry part inside of Chris thinks.

He's possibly not much better than the Vulcan when he moves on to imprint Jim's body with his own fluids, but at least he does it because he loves _this_ Jim, and not some goddamn copy from another reality.

*

"_Arrived safely_," the message starts, and Chris scrolls down in haste but finds nothing else. He should've known; it's not as if they ever put anything important into writing.

The embassy is shady and cool, and there's a guest waiting for him.

"I came to apologize," Spock says as Chris enters the public office.

"You came to the wrong man," Chris replies stonily.

"I beg to differ." There's a prominent shot of the _Enterprise_ on the wall, and Spock looks at it before he turns his focus back to Chris. "We must talk."

"Not about this," Chris says and leaves the room, sending his secretary to see out the Vulcan.

Twenty years, and Spock still tries to change the rules.

In two months, Chris would send him a message and they'd begin a new game of chess, discussing everything besides _it_.

But never earlier.


End file.
